


love and let loss

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Australia, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Making Out, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This is what it means to be alive.Donghyuck’s eyes fluttering shut, a lazy smile glittering in the Australian summer sun.This is what it means to be in love.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45
Collections: Anonymous





	love and let loss

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this drunk as fuck and betad it even drunker lmk what u thought . !

There hasn’t been rain for a hundred years, the soil hard and crumbled as if elegance was to have its revenge, and Jaemin wonders if this is the epitome of beauty—nature, at its most natural. A battle for life, bloodied and dried up into the Earth. But Donghyuck finds breath in the most stealing of places. He bends down and knits flower crowns with weeds plucked from the cracks in the ground, places them on the horizon of Jaemin’s head, where they dawn over like the blossom of a new future.

It almost makes Jaemin yearn. Makes him miss a life he hasn’t yet lived. One full of rain and sorrow and love in a time of loss. 

Donghyuck’s always been good at that—turning loss into opportunity. It makes Jaemin wonder who he was before Donghyuck. Whether he’d been something less, and whether Donghyuck had been the one to turn him into something more. Whether he’d always _been_ something more, and why he hadn’t done anything about it himself. Why it’d taken Donghyuck of all people to make him feel alive.

 _Donghyuck_ makes Jaemin yearn. Makes his throat close with want. This is what it feels like to want after rain. 

And Jaemin can’t help himself. He turns his face to the sky the moment the rain clouds haze over, and waits for Donghyuck to come, waits for his voice like thunder to steal through the air and make Jaemin shudder with want. It’s dizzying, being alive. And even more dizzying chasing after a boy who’s forever running in circles.

“Would you let me have you?” Jaemin asks one day as Donghyuck kisses lines of Keats and Byron into the crook of Jaemin’s shoulder. Lips brushing renaissance into his skin. “Would you let me call you mine?”

Donghyuck laughs like lightning. “You can do whatever you want.”

And so, Jaemin does. He rolls Donghyuck over onto his back, the blades of dried grass crackling up around him, a golden halo. Donghyuck smiles, lets Jaemin’s do what he wants. _So good,_ Jaemin thinks as his hands run across the swell of Donghyuck’s stomach. _Always so good._ His hand dips under the fold of Donghyuck’s shirt, and Donghyuck only smiles, lets Jaemin have his way. 

_This is what it means to be alive._ Donghyuck’s eyes fluttering shut, a lazy smile glittering in the Australian summer sun. _This is what it means to be in love._

Jaemin hovers over Donghyuck’s body, the only shade in a hundred miles from here, the only relief. He leans down and presses his lips wet against Donghyuck’s neck. So gentle that Donghyuck shivers, reaches up and fists the collar of Jaemin’s shirt to pull him closer, chest flush against flush, so close that all Jaemin can smell is the warmth of dry grass and the sweat along the ridge of Donghyuck’s lips. 

“Such a tease,” Donghyuck says, curling his fists even tighter. Jaemin struggles against his grip for a moment—one, sun filled moment—before collapsing against Donghyuck’s chest. “You can have me, if you’d give me what I want.”

“Oh? And what do you want?”

“You,” Donghyuck says, breathes it against the shell of Jaemin’s ear, goosebumps along each letter. “All of you. Tender, pliant. The Jaemin only _I_ see.”

Jaemin snorts, let’s his eyes flutter shut. “And who’s the Jaemin only _you_ see?”

“This one. The one that’s in love. The one that _lets_ himself be in love. Not the one that clings to money and expectation and revenge. I don’t like that boy. Makes me want to bury him.”

Jaemin wonders who that boy is. The only one he sees is the one who is in love with Donghyuck. The one who wants after rain and sun and all things tender. He can’t imagine another Jaemin—doesn’t have enough self-awareness to be able to. It stills him for a moment. It makes him wonder who he is. Whether he is what everybody else sees, or whether he is the self that he makes.

 _This is living,_ he reminds himself. A toddler scrawl on the wall cherry-picked by critics into the next da Vinci. There is no _Jaemin._ There is only want.

And what Jaemin wants now is to shut Donghyuck up. He bends down ever so slowly, and places his lips on Donghyuck’s own. It’s a slow matter, but a bright one. A solar flare in all the darkness of space. But Donghyuck gasps into his mouth and fills him with the satisfaction of silence and a thousand suns, and he _wants_ more than anything. He wants so badly it makes him forget that all that he’s built from his loss.

Because that’s what Jaemin is—loss. Loss and love and everything that exists in between. And he cries at night into his hands, and wonders when the gaps between his fingers will be filled with Donghyuck’s own. And he counts down the hours, minutes, seconds, into infinity. 

And this is _living._ Because all that loses is made for living. And it makes Jaemin wonder that now that he has Donghyuck against his lips, whether it’s worth being alive anymore.

But then Donghyuck kisses back. He’s so tender it makes Jaemin feel whole again. Like the ozone slowly coming back together. Eyes pricking with eucalyptus tears. This is what it feels like to be caught between the crosswinds over the Gold Coast—alive, _so_ alive, but so close to plunging to the ground.

Jaemin holds Donghyuck close, presses him even closer into the drought-stricken ground. Kisses him kind into the grass, and wonders if the spark between them is bright enough to inspire a world full of wildfire. 

Donghyuck laughs into the kiss, his hands still tangled in the tumble of Jaemin’s collar, his knuckles white with need and desire and everything the sun cannot give. 

And Jaemin lets him take. Because for all the world has ever given him, there hasn’t been rain for a hundred years, and Jaemin wonders if this is all there’ll ever be—him and Donghyuck, pressing lines of Romanticism into each other’s skin, praying to a God that’s no longer there. 


End file.
